


Private Stiles Time

by Lilia



Series: Mating Bite [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, But not always, Don't Knock Masturbation, It's sex with someone you love, M/M, Masturbation can be fun, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Omega Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 06:26:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5153618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilia/pseuds/Lilia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Masturbate or write a blog post? Decisions, decisions. </p><p>Or, Stiles at home, by himself, right after the Beacon Hills Alpha-omega Mixer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Private Stiles Time

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are deeply appreciated. Also posted on Tumblr with Pictures!! [Private Stiles Time](http://liliaford.tumblr.com/post/132673171666/private-stiles-time/).  
> I officially give permission to list this on Goodreads or anywhere else. For my thoughts on that controversy, here's my [blog post](http://liliaford.tumblr.com/post/116595379216/love-lost/)

Stiles was going to kill Scott. Like seriously—he was charging up the old mind rays. Scott was supposed to be his bro, his _best bro_ , even if he was an Alpha-hole. And attempting to set him up with another Alpha, with Derek Hale, went against any and all tenets of the bro code.

Derek Fucking Hale, the Hale pack enforcer, number three on _omegAllure Magazine’s_ list of the California Territory’s top ten most eligible Alphas.

Not that Stiles read _omegAllure Magazine_ in the sense of _reading it_. He’d been at the dentist.

And just happened to glance at the cover.

And since the appointment was running late, he might have flipped through the pages to look at the list. And the picture of Derek—OMG hilarious. The guy totally looked like grumpy cat, all scowly and shit.

He flipped open his computer and quickly surfed over to his favorite porn site. And, no, it was not his fault that they’d named it _Alpha!Cocks!™_ which even by porno site standards was a moronic name. He pulled the drawstring on his Avengers jammies and gripped his cock.

He’d already jerked off twice today, once in the morning and once after lunch in the janitor’s closet at school. He’d have died before admitting it to the rest of the ORT, but he hadn’t totally trusted himself in a room full of Alphas not to pop an anxiety-boner--from _anxiety_ , which is a serious medical condition (so fuck you, Erica!) that had afflicted Stiles for many years and for which he’d obtained at least seven separate doctors’ notes.

Sadly, Stiles, like the poor naïve omega that he was, had convinced himself that an anxiety-boner was the _literal worst_.

Hah fucking hah!

No, the literal worst, _it turned out_ , was popping a boner, a Stiles special _rager_ , the moment he heard Derek Hale’s oh-so-manly Alpha voice. He shivered just thinking about it.

Fucking concentrate on the porn, doofus!

His former favorite, Alpha-stud Wolf Blade, was at the moment jacking his legitimately impressive dick. Stiles had reviewed this video multiple times, and had always admired the way Wolf Blade’s cum-shot landed right on the camera lens, since weren’t those things expensive?

“You ready for some Alpha cock, omega?” Wolf Blade growled, his eyes flashing red.

Stiles couldn’t help wrinkling his nose when the camera panned over to Blade’s “omega bitch,” actually played by a beta, who was on his hands and knees, squirming and moaning to show how very ready he was: “Oh, please, Alpha, please.”

“Can’t hear you, slut,” Wolf Blade grunted and gave the “omega” a hard smack on the ass.

“Oh yes, Alpha! Yes! Please fuck me, I’m begging you!”

During previous viewings of this particular video, just that smack had usually been enough to get Stiles moaning right along with them, but today he couldn’t help wondering why betas always seemed to think omegas made those ridiculous squealy sounds while they were begging for _some-o-that_ Alpha!Cock!™

He mused for approximately the hundred thousandth time about whether the ORT should take a position on the illegality of actual omegas appearing in porno videos. On the one hand, there was a real risk of omegas being taken advantage of, but on the other, he was adamantly opposed to any laws which implied that omegas were not capable of full adult consent….

WTF! Was he jerking off or writing a fucking blog post?

Wolf Blade was just not doing it for him tonight.  

He slammed his laptop closed, retied his jammies, got up, fumbling through papers, gathering up laundry. Picked up his iPad, put it down, picked it up again.

He was not going to jerk off to Derek Hale. No way, nada, never. He’d take a cold shower first. He’d redo all the tags on his Tumblr posts like he’d been meaning to. He’d _clean the fricken’ oven_.

Wow. Clean the oven. Was that like a metaphor or euphemism or something? _—“I’d clean your oven, cupcake.”_

Fucking Moon, he had not just imagined Derek Hale saying that! Could he be more fucking lame!

Stiles rubbed his eyes, acknowledging the fundamental hopelessness that was his life.

Because fuck, Derek Hale could clean his oven any time. OH MY GOD, could he clean Stiles’ oven!

And he could stop with the stupid made-up fucking euphemism right fucking now!

He was suddenly overwhelmed by the memory of that muscled Alpha body shoving him face forward against the wall, hand gripping his neck. Had Derek’s stubble maybe brushed against his face? Just for a second? There was that moment when he was hissing, “Stiles, stop it. Keep back,” right in his ear. There’d been kind of a tickly feeling….

Shut up about the fucking beard, Stiles! The guy thinks you need a chaperone to walk around a parking lot!

Yes, that was definitely a more productive line of thought. Chaperones—like Stiles was an omega from the 1950s, sitting demurely in the family parlor while the big important Alpha detailed his financial credentials to his dad. Stiles could shyly offer some cookies he’d baked and then maybe Derek would ask to hold his fucking hand.

Oh yeah, that was totally _respect_. Stiles did an extra dramatic eye-roll to make clear his opinion of that bullshit. He’d show Derek Hale what he could hold. Like _some-o-that_ omega!cock!, trademark Stiles Stilinski.

Seriously, could the guy be more of a cave-Alpha—slamming him against the wall, yelling at him to stay back, using the Alpha tone on him!

And hello! That was _twice_ today that an Alpha had used the Alpha tone on him. He was still mad at Scott about it. And, no, it did not matter that Stiles had been acting like an asshole to Isaac. (Okay, worse than an asshole, he’d been an insensitive douchebag.) That still did not give Scott the right to use the Alpha tone on him. Like Isaac was some poor helpless omega who needed Scott’s protection, and all because Stiles was dissing his mate, which was not cool, but still, not Scott’s business.

But pissed as he was at Scott, at least they were friends, best friends, and in the four years since Scott’s first shift, he’d not used the Alpha tone on Stiles once, not even that time when Stiles had almost jammed....

Didn’t matter.

Crap. His jammies were sticking out perpendicularly from his body.

WTF!

Seriously—was he truly this pathetic? He’d never felt the least bit of attraction towards Scott, and now, _now_ , was the moment his fucking omega hormones decided to notice that his best friend was also an Alpha? Because he’d used the Alpha tone, which was a complete abuse of power and totally over the line?

Oh fuck. He slumped down in his desk chair, palming his dick and letting his eyes drift closed.

Suddenly, he was lying on the ground, staring up at Derek Hale, who’d just snapped out, “Stiles, take your hands off Isaac, now!”

Fuckity fuckity fuck! He grabbed the open lube off his desk and squeezed some onto his hand.

Holy fuck, Derek’s expression when Stiles had yelled at him—there’d been a little snarl and a flash of red from his eyes. He’d looked so _disapproving_ , like he wanted to haul Stiles up by the scruff of his neck and throw him over his knee, teach him who was Alpha….

He shuddered, the slapping sound of him beating his meat ridiculously loud in the quiet house.

He broke down and stuck a finger in his mouth—and then another. Why did this feel so much dirtier than mere jerking off? He imagined Derek tapping his mouth with this fingers and then ordering, “Suck them.” And then, not letting Stiles pull away, keeping the fingers shoved in his mouth while he quickly jacked Stiles to completion. Shoving him to his knees…

Stiles wouldn’t lie to himself: he was dying to get his mouth around an actual bona fide Alpha!Cock!™, to the point that he’d contemplated getting drunk and then begging Scott to let him try it—just once—for practice.

Tragically, he’d no choice but to admit he would _not_ require liquid courage to go down on his knees for Derek Hale. He imagined Derek’s eyes flashing red as he growled in the Alpha tone, “You know what to do, omega.”

Fuck, _did he_.

He pictured himself scrambling, the Alpha tone making him clumsy in his helpless need to obey.

 _It’s just a fucking fantasy_ he reminded his inner activist who was gearing up to protest and who could _shut the fuck up_ while he was JERKING OFF.

Where was he?—right, practically tripping over his own feet to obey, and maybe accidentally-on-purpose mashing his face up against a certain Hale package. Some nuzzling, his cheek getting slightly chafed rubbing against the zipper, getting a little hint of that musky Alpha scent.

“Unzip me,” ordered in that growly, grunty tone.

Fuck yes. There it was, his very own Alpha!Cock!™

“Take it, omega!”

He began pumping his fingers into his mouth, wondering if said Alpha!Cock!™ would be big enough to choke him, maybe just a little… definitely make his cheeks sore with the effort of sucking…

A line of drool meandered down his chin, and really that should not be that fucking hot.

Maybe Derek would grab his hair—yank it just enough to sting—force his head back.

“Eyes on me, omega!” fantasy Derek barked out.

Yes. Moon, that was good. _Eyes on_ so he could watch as Derek’s fangs drop—because the Alpha is that turned on by Stiles’ incredible omega cocksucking powers.

And then Derek’s hips are thrusting as he gets close, hitting the back of Stiles’ throat and making it do that spasm thing he’d read about in his favorite _Teen Alpha_ PWP fanfic.

Just the thought of imaginary Derek losing control was enough to push him to his own edge. He sped up, ignoring the lingering soreness on his dick from his earlier faps, gripping himself harder.

Oh Fuck! There it was: his gut dropped—he’d passed his point of no return.

He didn’t want to pull his fingers out of his mouth, so he spun the chair to face away from his desk, knowing from bitter experience that he did not want to shoot all over his laptop.

Just in time. He groaned loudly as a cum shot worthy of Wolf Blade himself arced out of him, somehow reaching all the way to his bed. Fuck, he’d have to wash his duvet now if he didn’t want to deal with Scott’s teasing.

He sagged back into his desk chair, giving it a good spin with his feet, gearing up for the rush of self-disgust mingled with dread that hit him whenever he really let go with his more _specific_ Alpha fantasies. These were the feelings that made him think about going on suppressants. His face burned and he could practically hear the jeers: the ORT, everything he’d ever done to help his classification, was nothing but hypocrisy, or worse, the pathetic overcompensation of an omega repressing his _true_ desires.

Like for uber-Alpha Derek fucking Hale.

Of course real-life Derek wasn’t exactly Wolf Blade. Stiles still couldn’t believe Derek’s mom was Marianne Hale, basically everything Stiles aspired to be.

And she was dead.

Murdered by Kate Argent.

It was enough to disrupt Stiles’ shamefest, because bloody _Moon_ , Derek’s expression tonight when he talked about her. It had to be four years—more—since Marianne Hale died. That was some serious grief.

Grief, but there was something else too.

Stiles laughed bleakly. Who the fuck did he think he was kidding? He knew exactly what he’d seen there. Guilt. It was text-book. And he should know since the shrinks could have written up an entire college syllabus about him and how a seven-year-old kid can blame himself for not knowing how to cure a fatal disease.

Of course Derek blamed himself for not being able to save his mom. What did it matter that Talia Hale, the most powerful Alpha in California, had died in the same attack, or that Peter Hale, the most deadly, couldn’t save her either?

If anyone knew about soul-eating guilt, it was Stiles. But…

But it hadn’t lasted forever. Every now and then something would trigger him and he’d get sucked back down that drain, but thanks to his dad and Melissa and most of all Scott, Stiles had taught himself to claw his way back, see it for what it was. Most of all he would remind himself over and over that if something like that had happened to Scott or Isaac or Lydia, he’d know, down to his fucking bone-marrow, that it hadn’t been _their_ fault.

His eyes burned, but for once he didn’t feel like a stupid weepy omega.

_Being Yourself is the Strongest Political Statement You can Make._

You wrote that, asshole, he reminded himself, so maybe you can fucking stand behind it. If anyone got the kind of pain Derek Hale was feeling it was Stiles, and if he couldn’t allow himself a few tears for that, then he really was fucked.

 _And maybe_ there were worse things than jerking off to dumb clichéd fantasies of cave-Alphas, and that didn’t make him a total hypocrite or invalidate everything he was fighting for or everything he’d accomplished.

Speaking of cave Alphas. He shuddered, remembering himself lying on the floor staring up at Derek.

His fucking omega-slut of a cock jerked.

Aargh! Maybe he should have written that blog post after all.

Fuck! He was going to kill Scott. This was all his fault.

 

 


End file.
